Fates March
by Zalera06
Summary: After a brutal attack on the night of her engagement, Dahlia Archdaen finds solace in an unlikely place. The daughter of a well known death eater is thrown into a harrowing adventure soon after and it's only the beginning. Story begins with a mention of DracoxOC, but changes over time.
1. Arrive

**Author's Note** : As is the case with many stories, I have taken a few creative liberties with changes in minor details. I'm sure you'll catch them when they come up, but I did so only for the flow of this story. The pairing will change later on. This story is rated M as a whole for later chapters, violence, etc. Enjoy!

When the spinning world came back into focus, the young witch was greeted by the frigid night air against her exposed skin and a thin layer of snow that crunched beneath her feet. The cold wrapped itself all around her, enveloping her in its deadly grasp like a cloak worn tight. The night was ready to claim her, and she was nearly ready to let it.

Her rapid breath was heavy in her chest and each inhalation caused her ribs to bite into her lungs. She grit her teeth and willed herself to calm down, to slow her gasps and quickened heartbeat. Like a war drum before a battle it beat inside her, pumping her full of the adrenaline she needed to get herself to safety.  
She lifted her eyes to survey her surroundings; both heaven and earth shined brilliantly, each the others perfect negative. They provided her with a much welcomed source of light to guide her forward.

It was just five days shy of Christmas and the frozen trees were dressed with tinsel and colorful orbs in celebration of the occasion. A long wooden fence was laced with red and white ribbon, making it look like a pair of large candy canes that had been laid onto their sides and hoisted off the ground. The two posts that housed the gateway to the other side were adorned with wreaths made of pine needles and large green velvet bows at their tops.

She had landed in an open field inside the fence and a significant amount of land separated her from a strange looking house. It jutted up from the ground like a misshapen log among newly grown Spring grass. The upper rooms were supported by rickety beams that looked as if they'd break with the lightest whisper of a breeze and the entire jumbled mess would come crashing down to the ground. Nonetheless, it was homey in its own way. An old home for a loving family. One that had needed to expand upon their small abode over the years, if she had to guess. Looking upon it was like gazing an an old painting or a hand-me-down quilt. It was a house that showed character above all else.

But what mattered most to her was that it was the right house. The one she'd imagined before she apparated. It was a place known to her only in her dreams. Dreams of pain, horror, fright, and then this house. The one that she knew was filled with kindness, compassion, and love.  
She stared forward like a statue, blinking several times in succession. She'd done it. She wasn't sure if it would work, but it did! She was here! This was the right house! Her mouth fell open and a breathy laugh escaped from her lungs. It was cut off shortly as her ribs creaked further and her skin was set aflame with pain. Her surprise and wonderment were put out like a light.

She steeled herself and let out one long, shaking breath. She could see a single light perched by the front door. Her target. That was where she needed to go. She suddenly became aware of her dizziness. It nauseated her and she knew if she were to fall forward and be sick, she wouldn't be able to get back up.

She shut her eyes and swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. Her body shook ferociously from the cold and it became evident that she was going into shock. She'd lost far too much blood for her system to handle the chill. She had the briefest though that she might try to heal herself, but she shook that away in an instant. She was no healer, and performing magic out here in the open was far too risky after her initial apparation.

Opening her eyes, she looked down to her right hand. In it was her own wand; a slender yet unyielding piece made of rosewood. Clenched beside it was another in a darker wood, nearly as long as her own. She'd stolen it with a disarming spell and now found it pointless to keep. She brought her wand slowly up to her mouth and placed it between her teeth. Her skin had grown numb from the temperature, slowing down the opening of her jaw. She balanced the other on her thumbs and bent her wrists, trying to snap it. She found it extremely difficult as she felt a burst of pain in her right wrist causing a strained yelp to sound through her clenched teeth. She knew she had to dispose of it, though, and didn't want it to remain in tact in case someone should find it. She tried again, shutting her eyes tight and bending several times until a cracking sound broke through the still night. It was accompanied by a grunt that formed deep in her throat. She then let both pieces fall onto the ground before grabbing onto her own. She tried to stifle the shiver that crept up her spine, but a strong gust of wind swept abruptly over. She stumbled from the force and a light gasp escaped her mouth as her legs wobbled like a newborn calf. She held her arms out to keep her balance and blinked her eyes roughly to stop the tears that formed as her hair whipped violently around her face.

It subsided, and she loosened her stance. It was hard to judge the distance she had to walk, but she willed herself to do it. With each step she left a crimson footprint behind that stained the pure white earth below. The blood came from a large gash that ran along her left calf, starting at her knee and winding down to her ankle like a snake's path in the sand.

Each step caused her pain. The thin fabric that rested on her hips was sticking to her open wounds and rubbing against her raw flesh, pulling at the underlying layers of skin. But all she had to do was get to the door. She didn't dare look anywhere else. She didn't dare think of the time, the cold, the pain. Just the shining light ahead.

Once she reached her destination, exhausted to the point of fainting, she allowed herself one regrettable luxury as her shaky knees buckled and she collapsed against the door with a loud 'thud.' She groaned as every bruise, every cut, every aching bone, every bit of throbbing skin mocked her all at once. The torn flesh on her leg stretched and threatened to rip open as easily as a sheet of paper. She used both hands to clutch tightly her calf and push, alleviating some of the stress as the blood pooled into the ridges her hands made like water over a broken dam. It poured over her wand, which she still held onto as a lifeline, and drip, drip, off it went onto the ground. The position caused the pain in her ribcage to intensify greatly, but she didn't relent until the awful burning stopped.

She relaxed and leaned fully against the polished oak with her right shoulder. Her head was soon to follow. Just a little longer...

With her free hand she rapped thrice against the door. But it made so little noise she was certain no one could've heard it. She tried again, but to no avail. She let her hand fall back against the ground and she hardly felt it crash against the pavement below, scraping the skin of her knuckles. If she could push aside the small amount of pride she had left, she had another option. One that required only her mouth. She rolled to the side as much as she could and lifted her wand, pointing it at the door's lock.

"Alo... hamora..."

She almost expected the door to fly open. But of course it didn't. She clenched her jaw and palmed the handle to try and open it. Nothing happened. A pathetic whimper escaped her lips and she looked up to the sky in disbelief. Not that her spell wouldn't work, but that she even thought it would. With the threat of hypothermia looming over her, she pushed every last semblance of her humility aside. She had only one thing left she could do. Her last way into the sanctuary she clung to. She filled her lungs with air and coughed at first, then let out a cry.

"Help!"

But suddenly, the wind rushed by; a titanic chariot made of ice and manned by a glinting silver god, grinning tauntingly down at her as it grasped the cry in its hand and carried it away in its stride. She bared her teeth into the darkness like an animal and practically growled into the nothingness. Full of rage, she shouted once more, drawing out the words as long as possible so that they too were not robbed of her, "Help! Help! Please! Help!"

And that was it. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her muscles loosened fully as she slipped into unconsciousness slumped awkwardly against her savior and support – a stranger's front door.

Inside all but one opened their eyes the moment the crash reverberated through the house. A mixture of curiosity and fear swirled through their minds, along with a certain childlike wonder. A moment later they heard the distressed cry from outside. This made them jump up and collectively toss on their robes and slippers – some cockeyed, backwards, or in the wrong spot – and each grabbed onto their wands.

They crowded in the upper halls and headed for the stairs, jogging over the wooden floors. Their feet sounded like an army battalion rushing to the front lines, a stampede of human bodies. A man laying beside his wife was the last out.

"Who do you think it is?" She asked, worried.

"Just stay here," was his reply.

He caught the children at the staircase and ceased their movements, heading towards the front of the line. He held his finger to his mouth, 'shush', and tipped carefully down the creaking stairs. "Stay behind me," he instructed.

The children followed behind in a well spaced line. A row of ducks headed by the father.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Down they went to the home's first floor. The staircase let out conveniently in front of the door. The man stopped by it and the children surrounded him from behind, waiting anxiously. After undoing the lock, his hand rested on the knob a moment. He looked over his shoulder, nodding once at the crowd behind him. They each held up their wands, aiming at the source of the noise. He turned the handle and stepped back, tossing the door open wide and readying himself for whatever may reveal itself from behind.

The body of a young woman fell onto the floor – thud – and lolled limply to the side - bad-ump. Collectively their eyes widened in shock for just a moment before he sprung into action, kneeling down on one knee to examine the stranger. Recognition dawned on his face and his brow furrowed in confusion. There were so many questions racing through his mind that he couldn't seem to catch one and let it gallop out. 'How does she know where we live?' was the first to make itself apparent among the jumbled mess inside.

Next, panic struck him like a bolt of lightning. 'This is a trap.'

"You two, go outside and guard the front. Put up protective spells." He said to the two eldest. He'd barely finished when they rushed through the door and muttered one after another, silver light flowing from their wands like a river drifting into the sky and forming a barrier around their home.

The man brought his hand to his face and covered his eyes, then let it slide slowly down onto his mouth. He looked her over and found that her chest rose and fell weakly. She was alive, at least. He muttered an incantation to remove false appearances that could've been brought on by a potion. The bruises and dirt remained and he noticed that two lines of blood slithered over the wooden floor from different parts of her body. They rolled ominously towards him, as if taunting him to come closer. He sighed to himself. He was so overrun with doubt. If this were a trap, it was terribly elaborate. But could he put it past the Death Eaters to go so far? No, he couldn't. They would do this. They would use her as a beacon to light the night sky, a lighthouse for ocean wayfarers to find solace from a storm. They could have hurt her on purpose, and intend to heal her in one quick flash as they burst through the door and after everyone inside. She could be the eye of the tornado. Their lives could be at risk just from her presence there.

And yet when he looked down he saw a child in need of help. The spawn of a 'supposed' Death Eater that was true, but a child nonetheless. His eyes darted from one thing to another. From the soil covering her thighs to the purple skin around her neck. 'What do I do?' he wondered.

He decided to go with his heart and not his mind, and hoped fully that he wouldn't regret it. He slid his arms underneath her sleeping form and hefted her up to carry her over to the couch. Her exposed arm swayed lifelessly around with his steps, and he could feel his left sleeve growing wet with the warm liquid seeping from her.

"Go fetch your mother." He said to his daughter. She nodded and hurried upstairs obediently, taking the steps two at a time.

He turned his back to her and strode to the fireplace, resting one hand on it and using the other to rub the back of his neck. Could he alert someone fast enough if this were an attack? Was it a coincidence or something sinister? He hoped the answer would surface before it was too late. That they would know soon enough if they were in danger.

"Oh, good heavens!" cried the older woman when she first laid sights on the girl. Her hand went over her heart and she shut her eyes, exhaling a deep breath. Everyone was so terribly shocked but she was the one to express it most. She looked to her husband and he returned her gaze, nodding once. 'Go ahead', he said with his eyes. 'She needs help.'

Molly Weasley was never one to turn away a person in need. She would give her last galleon to a hungry man on the street. She didn't care that the girl's family was allied with the Dark Lord. She didn't care about the horrible things she'd heard about her cruel remarks to her family, although they'd pierced her heart as her children recalled them. She was in danger, and by the looks of it, it had been no accident.

"Ginny, Hermione, Harry, go and fetch warm water, towels, and anything you can find in the cabinets. Bring it all to the dining room. Quickly now." They did as they were instructed. Even Harry, who eyed her like a cancer.

While they retrieved the necessary items, Molly levitated the girl off of the couch, through the kitchen, and onto the dining room table. It was the sturdiest and closest work station she could think of in such short notice.

Arthur desperately wanted to seek help from Albus Dumbledore. However, he knew that he needed to stay and prepare in case of an attack. He wanted to send word to the Order immediately, but he wasn't sure if that was necessary for the time being. Exhaling deeply through his nose, he rushed outside to aid Fred and George. He stopped on his way out to pick her wand up off the floor and place it inside the pocket of his robe.

Mrs. Weasley lowered the girl onto the table so gently that nary a tap could be heard as she released the spell. She turned her head upon hearing the sound of the door from the kitchen creaking open as Ginny stepped through, holding a handful of towels and rags in various sizes. Molly pulled out a nearby chair for her daughter to place them on, and then she quickly left again to retrieve more.

Hermione was the next in, arms full with glass bottles and phials in various shapes and sizes. They appeared to once have labels on them, but those had long since been worn down. She placed them at the end of the table, a good distance away from where the bleeding girl lie. Harry trudged in behind her with a metal basin full of steaming water. He tried to walk carefully, but the liquid still swayed side to side and plopped out onto the floor. Molly instructed him to set it in the corner so that it wouldn't get in the way.

Ginny returned with a collection of wrappings and gauze, and Molly quickly took them and placed them near the potions. Although it didn't take them long to gather what they needed, time was precious and she could already see crimson pools here and there beneath the girl.  
They worked in relative silence. Molly instructed the children what to do at each turn. First, "each of you bring a wet rag over to wipe her down." She needed to properly see the damage before she could work on fixing it, and that was hard to do when she was covered in dirt. They could hardly tell a patch of dried blood from a bruise, and that didn't help anything.

Molly pointed for each of them to take a different spot; Ginny, face and neck; Hermione, chest and arms; Harry, from the knees down. Molly herself took her thighs and stomach, afraid of what she might uncover there. They moved quickly and methodically to wipe away the grime, rinse their rag, and return. Underneath her smeared makeup, Ginny found a blackened right eye, swollen and cut open left cheek, and a busted lip. She set her rag down and opened the girl's mouth a touch, finding her teeth were lined with red toward her gums. She furrowed her brow and mentioned it to her mother, who said she might've coughed it up. "If it's hers," Ginny added, making Molly frown. She moved her rag down to the neck area, seeing it was heavily red. She wiped it as clean as she could and tossed her rag down near the basin. She grabbed a towel to dab the young witch's skin with, and left the room momentarily. She returned with a hair tie, and made quick work of gathering up the dark brown locks in her hands and lifting her head to tie it in a quick ponytail. Of course, she had to use her hair as leverage to hold her head up, but she moved fast so as not to agitate the skin.

Hermione found that her chest was largely untouched even when she dipped just below the fabric of her brasier to check for wounds without exposing the girl, except for what she thought might be a bite mark on the collar bone. She quickly pushed that thought aside and worked tight lipped to wipe off her arms. There, redness covered such a large amount of her skin that it seemed as if she'd been painted. She noticed the girl's right wrist felt... lumpy, so to speak. She guessed that it was broken, and worked delicately around it. On her left hand, Hermione found a ring on her fourth finger. Its intended purpose was for engagement, obviously, by the placement. It was rather small for what it was and the money she knew the one who'd given it to her had; a thin platinum band adorned with simple filigree that resembled a delicate vine wrapping around either side of of an opal-shaped tourmaline stone in a gorgeous shade of aquamarine. It was simple, yet elegant. She imagined it must look striking on her feminine hands when she were in a normal state. When she was finished, she followed the same process Ginny had and stood patiently at the table, waiting for the next steps Molly needed to take.

As of then, Mrs. Weasley had found the largest wounds of the three ladies; a set of lacerations on either side of her hips. They began at the inside of her pelvis and stretched up and around to her backside. There were ten in number; five on each side. There was no mistaking that these were caused by thick nails digging deep into her skin. Similar markings existed on her stomach in a sideways stretch just below her navel. She was careful not to drag the rag across them and agitate the skin further. She had to lift the girl's provocative undergarments to clean as well as she needed, and was careful with placing the sides down. Bruises were forming on the outside of her thighs, and a patch of blood between them made her stomach drop. She exhaled a quick but deep breath through her nose, and turned her body so that Harry couldn't see her wiping away the crimson stains there. She was glad to have the help as she needed to attend to the girl's back and get everything patched up quickly. She didn't have the strong potions they did at St. Mungo's, and an infection could easily take root.

Harry had to focus on his own hands to work quickly. In truth, he didn't care for the girl one bit. He didn't wish her dead, of course, but he didn't want to care for her as if she were a crying babe that scraped its elbow. Certainly the damage was severe and he ignored his inner conflict and reminded himself that any life lost at his hand would be something he couldn't live down. Although her calves and feet looked alright from the front, when he lifted her right leg, his hands became warm and wet instantly and he merely set it right back down. There was no point in him trying to wipe it down at this angle. He rinsed his hands and continued to her other leg and trying to wipe off the table. Finishing quickly, he looked up to the others. They had all worked fast paced and were now ready to flip her over.

Molly gestured for the children to step away so that she could once again levitate the girl and rotate her onto her stomach like she were on a rotisserie. Hermione and Ginny quickly wiped the table off and laid a set of towels down so that she would remain at least a little clean.

This was where Mrs. Weasley needed to focus. She noticed that right away when she saw the leg. She shuffled down and around until she was positioned beside it, taking a wet rag with her. She asked Harry to hand her a towel as well, and she placed it over the wound and squeezed tight. She released her hold for a moment and looked over the bottles, handing one to Ginny. "Place that over any small cut you see after you wipe her down. Put a towel over her back like I've got this one," she said, pointing to a rather nasty looking wound between her shoulder blades.

Ginny nodded and with the help of Hermione and Harry, cleaned off the girl's back. They did so quickly, and Hermione unhooked her bra so that Ginny could apply pressure to stop the bleeding. The older girl took the bottle Molly had handed to Ginny and opened it, finding a thick sort of cream inside. She held it out to Harry, who took a gob and began rubbing it over various spots in her skin. It dried almost immediately to both of their astonishment, and they wiped their hands when they were finished.

Molly removed the towel and quickly ran a rag around the skin again to try and get the cut as clean as possible before unstopping a phial and dripping a potion inside carefully so as not to spill and waste it. Once that was done, she used her wand to try and reconnect the tissue as much as she could. The spell was rudimentary and nothing that could heal it completely, but it did help. Setting her wand aside, she grabbed a squat looking bottle and patted it against her hand to place a chunk of a clear, jelly-like substance into her hand. She dabbed it up with her other hand and applied it liberally over the wound, mixing it in well so that it formed a light pink color when combined with her blood. Once she felt it was covered from the top to the bottom, from her knee to her ankle, she wiped her hands off and began applying gauze. Because it wasn't in a straight line, she had to use quite a bit to get the angles right before she could wrap it up with cloth all the way around her calf and pin it shut. She wrapped it tightly enough to hold the gauze in place, but loosely enough so that it wouldn't cause swelling and possibly more damage.

She repeated the process with the puncture-like wounds on the girl's back. It seemed as if nails had been driven into her skin and dragged backward. The skin around was loose as if it'd been pulled by something and Molly wasn't sure whether she needed to remove it or not. Surely it'd just die, but perhaps there were some other way to mend it that she didn't know. To be safe, she simply applied the gel over the entire area and taped the gauze down. She wanted to wrap it, but unfortunately didn't have enough cloth to go all the way around to her chest. She clasped the girl's bra back to where it was, but looser to accommodate the dressings, and flipped her back over.

She worked diligently with the help of the children to dress her hips and stomach while they continued applying cream to her smaller cuts. In no time, she was covered in bandages, wrappings, and antiseptic. Molly asked them not to spare a single mark to be certain she didn't develop a fever overnight. Once that was done, she grabbed two potions among the various carafes and shuffled to the end of the table where the girl's head lay. Hermione helped to lift her head and tilt it back so that Molly could open her mouth and poor them in one at a time. She eased a potion to help with any internal injuries down her throat, followed by an antibiotic to fight off any basic virus that might be inside.

They didn't bother cleaning up. "We can do that tomorrow," said Molly, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

"Harry, go and fetch the boys, will you?" He jumped, jerking his head upward. He'd started falling back asleep while leaning against the wall once his part was finished. He flushed slightly, embarrassed, before nodding and heading out.

While waiting for them to return, Molly went to the cabinet in the living room and fetched a piece of parchment and a quill, quickly writing a letter to Dumbledore. She was vague and brief, saying only that they needed his assistance. She wrote that Arthur would meet him in Hogsmeade and that it was urgent. She signed her named and rolled the paper up, handing it to Pigwidgeon and sending him on his way.

They came in through the kitchen, dragging their feet and going into the dining room to see the work done.

"That's brutal," said Fred.

"Yeah, must've been attacked," said George.

"And what about Bill?" asked Fred.

"And Fluer?" asked George.

"And Remus?" they asked together.

Molly shrugged and opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "We'll just have to owl them."

"No use trying Remus," said George.

"You barely got ahold of him the first time," added Fred.

"We'll do what we can," replied Molly.

"Where will she sleep?" asked Ginny.

"She can take my bed and we'll share." offered Hermione. Harry turned his head toward her quickly, slightly surprised at the suggestion. She looked back at him, jaw tight, then to Molly and Arthur.

Arthur scooped the girl up once more and one by one they trudged up the stairs, heavy footfalls and swaying torso's – tad-ump... tad-ump tad-ump... tad-ump.  
Harry followed behind Arthur, but stayed outside while the older man went into the girl's room. He stared at the wall ahead, looking past the pictures there. 'My cheek is cold, I bet I've got blood on my face.'

Arthur took the girl to the now vacant bed. Hermione caught up with him and tossed the patchwork covers back, allowing him to set her in the space left behind. He covered her up and looked to Hermione with a smile. "Thank you. All of you." he said, loudly enough for Harry and the twins to hear. Hermione nodded and watched him leave.

"Go on to bed, Harry. We'll be safe tonight," said Arthur as he gave the boy a warm pat on the shoulder before moving on to his room.

"Goodnight, Mr. Weasley."

'….. That's definitely blood,' thought Harry as he returned to his own bed. He shivered in disgust and wiped it off with his sleeve before he placed his glasses on the end table and plopped down, hoping that this had all been nothing more than a dream.


	2. Awake

When the sun shone through their windows and assaulted their eyes with its intense rays, nearly all in the Weasley household were awoken. Ginny grumbled and covered her head, curling up into herself. Fred and George each flipped over to try and avoid it. Harry's eyes opened and he looked around, nostrils flared like a madman. Hermione was the first to get out of bed and head begrudgingly to the bathroom. Arthur found Molly's hand in the covers and brought it to his lips, giving it a feather light kiss. That lightened her mood significantly, and she too stood for the restroom.

Ron was the last to wake up. He yawned widely, like a lion, and stretched his arms over his head. He'd had a wonderful dream about being the king of cake land, where muffins played Quidditch as he sat regally on a gilded throne. He sat up and scratched his messy red hair, looking to Harry.

"Morning, mate. Bad night? You look like hell." said Ron.

Harry, after putting on his glasses so that Ron didn't look like a smudged water color painting, shot Ron an irritated look. "Bad night's an understatement. I'll tell you once I'm actaully awake," replied Harry moodily. He stood and slid his feet into his slippers, then headed down to join the line in the lower hallway.

After wasting as much time as they could, they all trudged lazily downstairs. Molly, her hair in a tangled mess, looked to the twins. "Boys, go ahead and get breakfast going."

Fred and George, looking the most neat of all, were thrown off by the request.

"Come on Mum," began Fred.

"You know we burn everything." finished George.

"Yeah, we're no good."

"Get Ronniekins to do it." Fred inclined his head, gesturing to his younger brother as he came down the stairs.

"Why me?" asked Ron, offended. He held his stare on the twins.

"You're the one that didn't do anything." said Fred.

"Yeah, you just laid in bed all night."

"Snoring like a baby."

"And here we all were busting our tails."

"What are you talking about? You two went to bed before me!" argued Ron.

"Boys," Molly interrupted crossly, "Enough. Fred and George, in the kitchen. Now."

The twins pouted, but Molly stood firm. They turned tail and went one after the other through the swinging door. The clanking sound of pots and pans ensued, following by the two jabbering at each other about who would do what.

Once he reached the bottom, he noticed a rather large stain on the floor. He eyed it suspiciously, then looked to his mother. "What's that?"

"Someone showed up last night." answered Molly. "One of your classmates."

"Hurt? Who is it? Are they alright?"

"It was Dahlia Archdaen, and yeah she was pretty well beat up." answered Harry.

Ron turned to his friend, then to Hermione, then back to his mother. "Dahlia Archdaen?" Molly nodded.

"And you just let her in, did you?"

"Ron, enough." Molly responded.

"It bloody well isn't enough. She's just like her father, you know that, don't you? She's going to be a Death Eater just like him. I'll bet she's just playing it off until she can kill Harry. Or better yet, bring him straight to You-Know-Who with a bloody bow around his neck."

"No one's going to kill Harry, Ron. I've hidden her wand." said Arthur.

"So what? She could still poison him. She could still lead them here." said Ron. His cheeks and ears were red with anger, and he held his hands in fists.

"She couldn't have had poison with her." said Hermione, crossly. She looked at him as if he'd personally insulted her, huffing a breath and looking away from him almost immediately.

"Oh yeah? How'd you know that? She tell you over tea?"

"She was practically naked. There wasn't anywhere to hide it." answered Ginny, bluntly.

Ron's face scrunched up. "Naked?"

"Of course that's the only part he heard." grumbled Hermione. She crossed her arms and turned her head to the side.

"I'm with Ron. I think this is ludicrous." said Harry.

"Thanks, mate. The one who's life is being threatened agrees with me. If you were him, you'd agree too. Where is she?"

"I let her use my bed." said Hermione, her focus on the far window. She could see a pair of birds hopping over the snow, chirping at each other.

Ron turned deep scarlet. "You let her in your bed Hermione? What's wrong with you? Have you gone mental? Do you-"

"Ron. Enough. Quiet down." snapped Arthur, looking to his youngest son. "I'm going to fetch Professor Dumbledore and alert the Order. Until then, she's upstairs unconscious and without a wand. She's harmless right now."

Ron sighed and the noises in the kitchen resumed. It seemed that the twins had stopped their tasks in order to hear the conversation – or rather, argument.

"In fact, I'd better get going now. The sooner, the better." said Arthur. He gave his wife a kiss on the cheek and looked to the children. "Just stay calm. Alright? Everything's going to be just fine." He patted Ron on the shoulder, smiling kindly.

They nodded, Ron woefully so. Arthur headed upstairs to change quickly, coming back down in a pair of faded gray slacks and an old blue pullover. He had a warm wool jacket around himself, and brown shoes that didn't quite match anything else he had on. His spectacles were neatly on his nose, and he went into the fireplace, gone in an instant swirl of green smoke.

"Ron, I want you to write to Bill to let him know not to come until Monday." said Molly.

Ron murmured to himself and marched over to a cabinet, withdrawing a quill, ink bottle, and parchment, then drug himself to the table at the center of the room, plopping down on the floor with his legs spread out far and his shoulders slumped over.

"Don't put onions in that!" yelled Fred from the kitchen.

"What about you, that's way too much cheese!" argued George.

"At least I'm not drowning everything in sugar."

"Oh yeah, better to drown it in salt."

Hermione, Ginny, Molly, and Harry went into the dining room and started picking up the remnants of the night before silently. Harry carried the water basin to the back door, nearly getting run over by George in the process, and dumped out the grimy water. It melted the beautiful shining snow beneath, and left a lake of ugliness behind. He found it appropriate, considering whose mess it was.

After he set it inside, Ginny dumped the dirty towels into it. They shared a short moment, smiling at each other before they were shooed out of the way by Hermione. Her frizzy hair had been tied into a lopsided bun that bobbed to and fro on the side of her head, looking like a messy birds nest with sticks jutting out of its sides. She and Molly worked together to put away the potions, weaving around Fred and George and their circus over the stove. After that, Molly enchanted the basin to wash the towels on its own. She was overly grateful for magic in that moment.

After that, the four returned to the living room to find Ron with his head in his hand and the quill laid down beside the parchment.

"I'm done."

Molly picked up his letter and examined it while Crookshanks jumped up onto the table, headed straight for Ron.

 _'Bill,_

 _Mum says to come Monday. There's a bloody Death Eater in the house._

 _Cheers,_

 _Ron'_

Molly frowned and looked down at her son. "Ron."

"What?" he asked grumpily. Crookshanks laid down on the small stack of papers Ron had gotten for himself.

"Write it again."

He groaned and tried shooing the Kneazle off of his parchment. He pushed, "Shoo. Go on. Get." But Crookshanks was stubborn and laid down on his side. "Move, cat!"

If he hadn't left his wand upstairs, he would've cursed the thing; turned it into a goblet or set its tail on fire of something. The Ministry of Magic be damned. They'd never met Crookshanks before.

"Hermione, get your bloody cat away from me." said Ron as Crookshanks rolled onto his back and curled his feet in happily, purring audibly.

Hermione, offended, spoke to her pet in a coo. "Come on Crookshanks. Want a treat? Are you hungry?" He raised his large head over his fat belly and looked wide eyed at the girl. She nodded, beckoning him. In a flurry of movement, he rolled onto his stomach and tried running off the table. He slipped on the parchment and knocked Ron's ink bottle over in the process before he dashed over to Hermione. She picked him up and trotted out pridefully, her nose turned up in the air.

The ink bottle rolled, spilling its contents onto the table and then crashed down to the floor, splattering the black goo in a wide circle before it fell onto its side of the contents could form a puddle at Ron's side.

Not only had the ink splashed onto his pant leg, but the river on the table had made its way to the edge and dripped rhythmically against his house shoes. Two of his favorite articles were now stained, and he was sure it'd bleed onto his skin.

"I hate that bloody cat."

"Ron, clean it up!" cried Molly.

Ron rolled his head back, staring miserably at the ceiling as he pushed himself off of the sofa. He went to the pantry the room over to find a towel. He drug his feet with slouched shoulders, his slippers scratching against the floor. He did the table first, swirling the towel around lazily until it was mostly clean, then knelt down to the floor. He twirled the rag, putting as little effort into the action as possible. It dyed the wood, but he thought it looked good enough. When he was satisfied with his work, Ron went back into the other room, using his backside to open the door, and tossed the rag in the waste basket. After that, he squished himself between the twins to wash the stains from his hands.

"I'm going to change." said Ron, not to anyone in particular.

He marched pathetically up the stairs and into the room he and Harry shared. He rifled through his drawers to try and find a clean pair of pants, but found nothing. All of his had been wadded up into a corner the day before, and taken down to the laundry bin. He let his head hit the top of the dresser with a thud. "Come on."

He looked for an alternative, and decided he only had one option; Harry's pants. He'd wear them until his were clean. The pair he found were dark plaid and about four inches too short. He felt like Neville, with his matching pants and shirt that were both just a touch too small. Ron hardly even bothered to put all of Harry's things back into his bag. He'd drug everything out to find the garment and laid it all messily onto his friend's bed. He used force shoving everything back in. 'I hate today.' he thought to himself, dropping the bag onto the floor.

He grabbed his wand from the table beside his own bed, in case he got a chance to see that fat cat again, and headed out after kicking out his feet to toss his slippers aside. He stopped in the archway of Ginny's room, pushing the door open and looking inside. Sure enough, he saw someone sleeping beneath the covers. He didn't want to look any closer, and shut the door fully and looked around for something to place in front of it. An alarm system, if you will. He found it in a brown vase covered in flowers of different colors that was held on the wall by a shelf, and placed it as close to the door as he could get it.

When he came back down, Ginny snickered at him. "Nice pajamas."

He glared at her, then went to retrieve a new ink bottle. "Crookshanks isn't around, is he?"

"He's in the kitchen with Hermione." said Harry, coming around the corner and setting himself down on the couch.

"Right."

Ron plopped down beside Harry and started working on his new letter. The quill scratched the parchment roughly, as if he were in a hurry to send an S.O.S. overseas.

"I'm done!" he called to his mother.

She came and lifted it up from the table, looking down at Ron and shaking her head.

 _'Bill,_

 _Mum asked me to tell you to wait until Monday to come over. We got a surprise last night. You'll see when you get here._

 _Cheers,_

 _Ron'_

"Better?"

"It'll do."

Ron sealed up the letter and gave it to Pig, not trusting the older Errol. Bill wasn't set to arrive until late afternoon, so it would most likely reach him in time. Ron stretched his arms over his head and could feel the draft on his lower calves. He tried pulling the borrowed pants down as much as possible, but it didn't help much. They were so low it was almost offensive, and still the skin over his ankles was exposed.

"Are those my pajamas?" asked Harry.

Ron didn't answer, and Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

After some time, a call came from the kitchen. "Breakfast is done."

The children all scurried to grab a plate. The smell inside was... overwhelming, to say the least. Spices, herbs, cooking oil, something burnt, and the sickly sweet scent of something rotten all blended together and assaulted their nostrils.

When Molly got in, they all moved aside to let her get the first serving. Toast, eggs, bacon, and beans were at their disposal and they were all in need of the nourishment. In the sink, there were pans and plates piled high. The things that had been made and discarded, it seemed. Hermione saw something burnt into nothingness wedged between a round cookie sheet and a yellow measuring cup.

"Should we wait for dad to get back?" asked Ginny.

"No, dear. I don't know when that'll be."

After their plates were prepared, they sat themselves down at the table and dove in. The only sound that filled the room was the scraping of utensils against the plates.

When they were done and their dishes in the sink, Molly enchanted it to wash them just as she'd done the basin. They left the food out so that when Arthur returned, he'd be able to make a plate. But Fred and George did cover it all with towels to help conserve the heat and keep it fresh.

While they waited, Molly sat down to knit and listen to the radio, Ginny, Fred, and George went outside so that Ginny could practice some Quidditch moves, Hermione stayed in the living room with Molly and brushed Crookshank's thick mane, and the boys went into their room to have a discussion about the girl sleeping close by.

"Dahlia Archdaen..." began Ron. "I can't believe Hermione slept in the same room as her."

"I know. She's the one that offered it, too." said Harry.

"I mean, has she forgotten everything Dahlia's done? She's worse than Malfoy, I think."

Harry was reminded of something he'd been meaning to talk to Ron about. Actually, he meant to speak with a lot of people over the subject. "Speaking of Malfoy..."

"You're sure you heard Snape talking to Malfoy?" asked Ron after Harry had recounted the conversation he'd overheard after Slughorn's party.

"If you ask me that again, Ron, I'll-"

"I'm only checking!"

"Yes, Snape was offering to help Malfoy." said Harry, dully. "He said he'd promised Malfoy's mother, made an Unbreakable Oath or something."

"D'you mean an Unbreakable Vow?" asked Ron, stunned. "Nah, it couldn't be."

"Yes, I'm sure. Why, what's it do?"

"It's just... you can't break an Unbreakable Vow." said Ron.

"Funnily enough, I'd worked that part out on my own. What happens if you do break it?"

"You die." Ron said flatly. He then went into a story about how Fred and George had tried to get him to make one when he was very small, and when Arthur had caught them, he'd been "as angry as Mum," according to Ron.

"Do you think she knows, Dahlia I mean, what Malfoy's up to?" asked Ron.

"Maybe. I think I need to ask her, anyway." said Harry.

"Yeah that'll go over smoothly."

"It's worth trying. She does owe us a lot. I'm going to talk to your dad first and see what he thinks. Maybe he can help me ask her." Of course, Harry knew that it was likely Arthur would defend Snape, saying that he was offering help as a rouse to get information. But he still had to try.

"Either way, I've got your back, Harry. I'll ask her with you."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea, Ron."

"Why not?" asked Ron, offended.

Harry sighed and picked that moment to bathe himself and get dressed, leaving Ron to yell at him as he left the room, "Oh so now you're not gonna answer me, are you?"

Around eleven thirty, Arthur emerged from the fireplace tailed by Dumbeldore, and to Molly's surprise, Snape as well. He carried with him a handsome black leather case that clanked lightly when he walked.

From upstairs, Harry and Ron could hear the arrival of their headmaster and quickly jogged down. Everyone that remained inside throughout the morning had gotten themselves ready for the day; bathing, dressing, brushing their teeth and hair. But when the twins and Ginny came inside, they were dirty and breathing heavily. They'd been outside all morning.

"Good morning, Molly, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Fred, George. Good to see you all." said Dumbledore, taking a moment to look at each of them, smiling happily.

"Good morning, Professor." They said in unison, completely on accident.

Harry caught sight of Snape and furrowed his brow. He'd have to wait for _him_ to leave before he could say anything to Arthur; and if he and Dumbledore left at the same time, he'd have no chance of speaking to the Headmaster until he returned to school.

"Professor Snape has brought with him a few potions that should help to coax the young lady awake. Molly, would you take him to see her?"

"Yes, of course." she sat down her knitting and gestured for Severus to follow her. He kept his eyes forward and marched with straight posture up the stairs.

"While we wait, I hope you don't mind if I have a seat."

"Of course not. Go ahead." said Arthur.

"Dad, there's some breakfast in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Ginny."

"Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?" asked Hermione.

"Why, yes. That'd be delightful. And some sugar, if you please."

"Do you know what happened to her, Severus?" asked Molly.

"No."

Snape had sat himself down on the bed and with Molly's help, turned Dahlia onto her back. He did the same as she'd done the night before, easing potions down her bruised throat. One to restore her blood loss, one for pain, and one to assist the healing.

"Is that it, then?"

"For now."

"Oh, Hermione saw blood around her mouth last night. Could you give her something in case she's bleeding inside?"

Snape pulled back the covers and examined her stomach momentarily. Her abdomen looked alright, however he noticed a deep purple and red blotch had made its home on her right side, starting in the middle of her ribcage. He could tell that it wound around to her back.

Severus bent down to dig through his wares, plucking an orange looking vial from the case. He guided that one down, then replaced it back with the others and pulled the blankets back up over her.

"If she isn't internally wounded, she's going to have cotton mouth for the rest of the day." said Snape blandly.

He stood, and the two went back downstairs. Surprisingly, neither of them knocked over the vase that Ron had left there. But Molly did see it, and moved it back to she shelf with a sigh.

"She'll be awake within the hour." said Snape as they entered the living room.

"What'll we do until then?" asked Arthur.

"You'll have to wait."

And wait they did. The entire party sat awkwardly quiet in the living room. If it weren't for the radio, they'd be able to hear the grass grow.

After a while, Molly went into the kitchen to make lunch. She even prepared enough for Snape, Dumbeldore, and Dahlia for when she woke. The eating silence was almost worse than the sitting silence, and all except for Snape crowded into the dining room.

"How is your business going, Fred?" asked Dumbledore. "I hope with our recent outbreak of boils, your sales don't suffer, George." He looked through his glasses at the two, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

The twins grinned. "Yeah, it's going alright." said Fred.

"And that's too bad about the boils. It's a good thing our dear Ron hasn't suffered form them."

"Yeah, we don't know anything about them."

"Nothing at all.

"We sell party gags mostly. Punching telescopes,"

"Spell checking quills,"

"Love potions,"

"Pygmy puffs,"

"Puking pastilles," added Dumbledore.

"Puking pastilles," They each went silent, and their cheeks flushed.

"Actually, I've quite enjoyed them. The taste is superb, although the after effect is less than desirable."

After they were done, Molly set aside two plates of food; one for Dahlia and one for Snape, too, if he happened to change his mind. The mess was cleaned, and they went back to waiting; Molly to her knitting, Fred, George, and Ginny upstairs to clean up, Hermione to reading, and Harry and Ron to the floor, where they played a game of chess.

Upstairs, Dahlia slowly drifted back into the world. She kept her eyes shut, but she was awake. Somewhere soft, warm, and nice smelling; orchids or lilac - very light but pleasant nonetheless. She knew it wasn't where she'd left the night before. She could see the sun shining through her lids and wondered how long she'd been asleep. Was it through an entire day? Or had she really woken up the next morning? That would only be possible if they'd used strong potions. But that meant she was inside a magical household. If that were true, she'd be incredibly thankful. She was worried she might've ended up with Muggles, and they would discard her wand thinking that it was just a stick.

She opened her eyes slowly, allowing herself time to adjust to the light; and time between being so comfortable to the questions that were soon to come. She stretched her limbs a little at a time so as not to cause herself distress, and sat up slowly while moving the covers aside. Every part of her ached, though it wasn't nearly as bad as she might've thought.

Dahlia looked around the room. Posters hung on the walls, one of the Hollyhead Harpies. She smiled to herself. This was definitely a magical household. But whose was it? By the look of it, the room belonged to a young girl. Possibly around her age. A dark wood dresser with a mirror over it was settled nearly directly across from her, a matching side table beside a bed that sat to her left with a lovely white candelabra resting atop it, nicknacks and jewelry were scattered here and there, and on the dresser was a fluffy pink ball rolling around of its own accord. It was a cute room, much different from her own. She could see the door to a closet to her right. Leaning against it was a broomstick. It was tidy, organized, easy to move around in.

She turned to the side and set her feet on the floor, resting her hands on the bed and hunching her shoulders forward. She was partially thankful to be in her own garments. That part said, 'At least they didn't change my clothes... or, rather, underwear.' Then there was another part that said, 'Am I really going to go out half naked?' Unfortunately, she decided it was the only option. Sure she could rifle through the closet or drawers, or wrap the large fluffy quilt around herself, but she didn't want to do either of those things. It'd be rude to go through the girl's things, and the quilt would be too heavy to walk in. Besides, they'd already seen her. It wasn't as if she had anything more to hide.

Dahlia stood and wobbled uneasily. She waved her arms out to catch herself, took a deep breath, then started to walk. She found that she had a limp to her left leg which didn't come as a surprise. She went to the dresser and the mirror that sat above it. She looked herself over with a grimace. At least she'd been cleaned off a bit. There was still makeup smudged beneath her eyes but she decided to leave it. It wouldn't matter to the darkened skin on the right side, and the left would grow red if she applied pressure and scrubbed the stains off. She was thankful her hair had been tied up. Although it hung lowly and the tie was just barely holding on, she was certain it looked far better than if she took it down completely.

The fluff ball rolled in front of her, squealing happily. She looked down and studied it, beady eyes meeting her own. A pygmy puff. She couldn't help but smile. It really was cute. And then it rolled too far and fell onto the floor with a squeak.

She took that moment to make her way out. She stopped at the door and held the knob, shutting her eyes. With one last squeal from the pink fluff at her feet, she opened it, slowly, and stuck her head out to get a look. She didn't see anyone coming down the hall, and could plainly hear a radio from the floor below. She tiptoed around the door and shut it even slower than she'd opened it.

She ignored the pictures on the wall. She wanted to see the person, or people, who'd saved her in person first. She walked slowly down the stairs, holding onto the railing firmly for support. Going down the steps hurt much more than walking. Although she'd been bandaged, the skin on her back and hips was burning uncomfortably, and all around both was sore and throbbing. Not to mention the ache at her side that she'd felt from the moment she sat up. But she didn't slow, or turn. She stayed exactly how she was.

Closer she drew, and heard a voice talking. A man, by the sound of it; old and speaking gently. It sounded incredibly familiar and she stopped to listen in. He was telling a story, but it was hard for her to catch. She walked further and heard another voice, a boy, less familiar than the one before but still her mind attempted recognition.

'Is that... Dumbledore? Couldn't be.'

She was a little worried over who she'd face at the bottom. Would it be someone she knew? Someone she went to school with and their family? Her stomach flopped, making her nauseous.

Down to the bottom she went, then turned to see those that had helped her.

"Hey, she's up." said Fred.

"Hello missus," said George.

"Ah, hello Miss Archdaen." It was Dumbledore. And the Weasley family, Harry, Hermione, and Snape.

Harry and Ron looked up and instantly had daggers for her while on the other side of the room Arthur and Molly looked both worried and frightened. Hermione kept her eyes down, but the twins and Ginny met her gaze. She kept her face passive and tried to focus solely on the Headmaster.

'Oh, good. It's just a house full of people that have good reason to hate me. Nothing to worry about at all.'


	3. Stay

There was an empty, awkward air all around the room as Dahlia stood at the foot of the stairs looking at each person there. Her face remained blank, however, until her eyes met Dumbledore's. She gave him a courteous nod and he held out his hand, gesturing for her to enter the room and sit with them.

She straightened her posture and walked purposefully to the only available seat she could find, which was beside George. She made herself walk straight and quick and ignored her discomfort by clenching her jaw and focusing on keeping her breathing at a steady pace.

Although she sat gently, she felt a sudden rush of pain. She lifted herself up and sat so that her hip balanced on the edge of the seat, allowing her to face almost everyone. Even though she felt the rawness of the skin there, it was much more comfortable than sitting directly on her backside. She found it incredibly embarrassing to feel such soreness but it didn't seem as if anyone noticed that that was why she repositioned herself.

"Are you hungry, dear?" asked Molly, who Dahlia only knew as simply 'Mrs. Weasley.' She knew that it was likely that she had heard stories of her wickedness and vileness. But when their eyes met all she could see from the older woman was genuine concern. Her body language was friendly and kind despite the girl's rigidness, and Dahlia returned the gesture with a small smile of her own.

"No, thank you," she said, her voice scratchy and quiet. She sucked in her lips a little and her nostrils flared in annoyance. It wasn't enough that they'd had to heal her, but now even her voice betrayed her pride. She lightly cleared her throat and had to stop herself grimacing when Molly asked, "perhaps something to drink?"

She knew it was rude to refuse your host more than once, and so she nodded and softened her expression. "Water would be wonderful, if it isn't any trouble."

Ron scoffed. ' _If it isn't any trouble._ ' Her even being there was troublesome to him. While they could be enjoying the Christmas holiday it was being ruined by this bloodied harlot. She was a thief in his eyes, stealing away the holiday and replacing it with her presence like a cloud of miasma dripping acid onto their skin.

When Molly returned, she held out the glass for Dahlia and the girl took it gently with her left hand offering the older woman a glimpse of the ring there. It must've cost more than everything in her home combined.

"Thank you," Dahlia spoke evenly despite the rasp in her tone. Molly gave her a pleasant nod before returning to her seat.

"I believe this will be easier if we could have you children go upstairs. No one likes an audience for too long," Dumbledore said, looking between the younger crowd that looked expectantly towards their classmate.

Ginny was the first to rise, agreeing with the Headmaster. The others soon followed, even though Harry and Ron felt a particular annoyance at the request. Why couldn't they sit in as well? What would it matter if they were there? They'd hear everything later regardless. But no protests would work. They trudged upstairs making sure their footfalls could be heard while Hermione shot them dirty looks from over her shoulder.

"Now, Miss Archdaen, I'd like to do this as gently as possible but we do need to know what happened. How did you end up here? Why are you in such a state?" Dumbledore spoke again, his voice gentle and his tone friendly; as if they were having a discussion about the weather.

Dahlia leaned forward to place her glass on the table nearby and thought for a moment on how she would answer the questions. She knew it'd be easier for everyone to understand if she didn't go into too much detail, but she certainly couldn't be sparing. She licked her lips and lightly cleared her throat again, recalling briefly what happened.

"I was attacked by some of the guests of my engagement party. It was late, after most everyone had left. Once it was over and I was left alone, I decided to run. I'm not sure why but I knew that I couldn't remain where I was. Call it a gut instinct, if you will. With my dress ripped, I could hardly cover myself with any more than I had thus my state of disrobe. I broke the window to the room and jumped out, slicing my leg," she turned her calf, showing the wrappings to the Headmaster before continuing, "I was met with some resistance but I was able to escape. As for my ending up here... well, that's more difficult." She paused to take a drink. "I've had a recurring dream for several years, and it became more frequent within the past few months. It starts with me, wounded and surrounded by darkness. Behind me is a high pitched screeching, and a heat like flames licking my skin. But ahead is a house, calling to me to shelter from the maelstrom at my heels. Some variations occur within the dream but the house remains unchanged. So when I was free to apparate, something in me knew that this was the only place for me to go. I felt no trepidation though the chances were high that I'd end up splinched or dead. When I landed, I saw this same home from my dreams before my eyes and so I followed the light from outside."

She thought that was sufficient enough and brought the glass to her mouth again, looking between each person left in the room. Arthur was giving her a strange, although doubtful look. Molly looked slightly confused but overall somber. Snape was expressionless, and the Headmaster himself seemed pensive.

"Do you remember who your attackers were, specifically?" He asked.

She blanched at the question. This was one she didn't want to answer. It would raise only more questions that would see no solution. She could outright lie, but she had a hunch he'd know and it'd make her seem suspicious.

"Yes," she said, holding his gaze. He looked expectantly at her, but she didn't say any more.

"Should we alert anyone that you're safe?" asked Molly.

Dahlia shook her head no. "Moreover, I would request that none be alterted to my presence here. Not the Ministry, none of my school friends, no one. I fear it would not bode well for you or your family."

Her response shook the Weasleys. Arthur and Molly exchanged worried glances. Dumbledore quickly drew their attention away and asked Molly about Dahlia's injuries. She felt as if she'd avoided a curse aimed right at her heart. She sipped her water delicately and kept her attention on their conversation, listening as Molly described what she'd seen. She must've been thirstier than she imagined considering her glass was already empty. She set it down gently so no noise reverberated through the room.

"Are there any other wounds you have that Molly didn't mention?" asked Dumbledore.

Dahlia recalled everything Mrs. Weasley had said before adding, "I believe one of my ribs and my right wrist are broken, cracked, or sprained. I can't be sure which."

Severus placed his case in his lap and opened it, grabbing four bottles and setting them aside before putting his bag back onto the floor. He handed them to Molly, explaining each one.

"To mend the bones, to mend the flesh, for the pain, and to fight infection. They can be administered with two to six drops each, once per day." He spoke smoothly, then turned and briskly returned to his bag, grabbing additional phials. "Add these two to a bath with one day in-between uses. Four drops of this one to assist the outer healing, six of this to remove the bruising and diminish scarring." With that, he returned to the chair to grab his bag, but remained standing. Dumbledore stood as well, walking toward Dahlia.

"Thank you for your willing responses. I'm going to speak with the Weasley's in the other room. For now, no one will know where you are. Rest well, Miss Archdaen." He said, reaching out to hold onto her intact hand with both of his. She smiled at him, genuinely, and thanked him. Once he moved away, she thanked Severus as well, who looked at her for a mere moment before turning and walking into the other room behind the Headmaster.

"What should we do?" asked Arthur, keeping his voice low so that their conversation didn't bleed out into the room where Dahlia sat.

"I think, for now, this is the safest place for her to be. She believes she may be in danger if she's found, so it would be best for her to remain hidden."

Molly and Arthur each looked a bit perturbed by this. Arthur because he was worried for his family after the things she'd said. Molly because she knew the burden of attending another guest.

"I fully believe she means you no harm. However, for your best interest, I'd keep her wand hidden and a watchful eye on her. I'll send over some funds to cover extra expenses and I'll call a meeting with the Order to discuss the matter further very soon." He gave them each a reassuring grin and bade them farewell. He and Snape exited through the kitchen, apparating from the back yard.

Arthur and Molly took that time to speak alone. They agreed that they should increase defensive charms and keep her wand from her. Being underage, she was still privy to the Trace. Though with them being a magical household if she summoned it, it may be overlooked. There was much to think on, but they trusted the Headmaster and knew that they would not be alone in this.

Dahlia was stunned. She was to stay with them? They'd agreed to it? She cast her eyes to the side, considering her words carefully. It'd be best not to insult the people who'd saved her from the brink of death.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," she paused, shaking her head, "I can't imagine this is an ideal arrangement for the two of you. If you would prefer I leave, I will do so with all haste."

They were silent for a moment before Molly spoke. "Where would you go, dear?"

That was a question that Dahlia had no answer for. She couldn't return home, and she hardly knew anyone that could keep her hidden without someone noticing. However, she was already far too indebted to the pair. "I'm certain I could find housing elsewhere to save you the inconvenience."

Although she was apprehensive, Molly could not allow a young girl to simply wander in search of a roof to place over her head. She'd only grow more anxious if they were to set her loose on her own. What if she were hurt? What if she were killed? That would weigh heavily on the woman although it was not her burden to bear.

"Absolutely not." She spoke firmly, her brown eyes hard with an authoritative stare. "You will remain here for now." She softened her expression, smiling lightly. "Everything will fall into place as it should."

Dahlia met Molly's eyes, searching for some sign that she were lying. When she found none, she sighed lightly to herself. She could tell Mr. Weasley was not pleased by the tightness in his shoulders and the rigid way his breath left his lungs. What she did not know was how frightened he truly was. From the moment he opened the door the night before his dismay had not faltered. Like his wife, he wouldn't be able to bear the thought that they could've stopped yet another tragedy; but he couldn't shake the feeling that this would lead to disaster. Nevertheless, he would not argue with Dumbledore's logic. It hadn't steered him wrong before.

He gave the girl a light smile, nodding his head. "Don't fret. Let's just enjoy the holiday." He spoke cheerfully then.

She was given her first dosage of potions soon after, followed by a couple glasses of water to wash out the aftertaste of the more foul of the bunch.

Arthur spoke to the children while Molly prepared a bath for Dahlia. As expected, Ron and Harry were outraged. They argued with Arthur until they were blue in the face, but he did not falter. While being as vague as possible, he told them of the grim situation she was in. They may greatly dislike the girl, but they did not wish her dead.

They were sullen after the discussion, but Arthur urged them to understand. This was not something up for debate. Rather, it was something set in stone. He assured them that her wand would remain in his possession and that he'd keep watch over her, but it didn't seem to help. He was ready to go back to sleep after the hostility that had been directed at him.

"I'll get some clothes together for you to wear. I'm certain we can find something around here that ought to fit you."

Steam rolled over the deep tub and onto the floor as the water rose higher. The brume grew when Molly added the mixtures Severus had given her. They swirled into the water, adding a tinge of fair blue and silver, respectively.

She turned the knobs, halting the water flow and silencing the room.

"That should do. Will you need anything else?"

Dahlia didn't want to ask, but she knew she'd need a hair brush. It'd take her far too long to run her fingers through her matted locks even when wet, and she'd end up losing far too many strands in the process.

Molly could see her apprehension and nodded, urging her to speak.

"If you happen to have a spare comb, I would greatly appreciate it."

Molly clicked her tongue, quickly turning and searching through drawers. "Of course! How could I forget?"

Dahlia smiled at her back, watching as she bobbed about in her search. Her goodness was inconceivable to the younger girl. She'd never encountered somebody like Molly. She realized she could be thinking on it too soon, and turned her attention to the welcoming water to her right.

"There you are. Take all the time you like. If you need anything else, go ahead and check around the cabinets. I'm sure we've got everything you might want." Molly spoke, handing Dahlia a brush with a wooden handle and thick, soft bristles in a dark brown hue. She nodded at Mrs. Weasley, thanking her quietly before she left.

Once she was alone, the first thing Dahlia did was brush through the knotted brown mess that sat atop her scalp. Painstakingly, she ran the brush through until it no longer caught. She hoped that the water had not cooled too much while she sorted out that mess.

At last, she removed the only articles of clothing she'd had and set them aside. She did the same with the bandages that had been left overnight, knowing she needed to fully clean her wounds.

She winced as she entered the bathtub; partially from the aches in her bones and partially from the raw skin that was now exposed. She sunk down low, dipping her head into the water and relishing its warmth. A nearby shelf provided her everything she would need to clean herself, including an unused rag.

It felt like heaven to scrub her hair and skin free of the filth that had found its home on her. Over time, her discomfort faded significantly allowing her to fully enjoy it and relax.

When she was on her second round of running the soap covered cloth over her arms and shoulders, a knock came at the door. She called for whoever was responsible to enter, and was surprised to see Hermione with a bundle of clothing in her arms.

It was quiet, awkward for a moment. Then the other witch opened her mouth.

"We found these for you. I'm sorry if they aren't quite the right size."

Dahlia shook her head. She didn't care if they fit her properly or not. They had given her their own clothes, and she was grateful. "Thank you, Hermione."

She nodded, setting the bundle down on the counter. She turned, facing Dahlia. She seemed apprehensive before she said, "Mrs. Weasley asked me redress your wounds."

"I can do that myself," Dahlia said gently, trying not to sound rude.

"It's easier for another to see where the bandages need to go."

Dahlia nodded. "Thank you, again."

"Sure."

The two locked eyes for a moment before Dahlia turned her attention back to washing herself. Hermione excused herself quietly, stating that she'd wait outside until Dahlia finished. It made Dahlia chuckle.

Hermione was shocked when Dahlia stood before her nude. She knew that if they were to change positions, she would've tried to cover herself up as much as possible. But after drying herself Dahlia remained unclothed. Hermione was mildly flustered at the situation she was found in. Her dealings with another's nakedness were nonexistent.

Hermione tried to remain nonplussed, and started with bandaging Dahlia's back. She was thankful that Dahlia had moved her hair so she could reach the right spot without having to ask or move it herself.

She tried to make her voice sound confident when asking Dahlia to turn, but it came out as a slight squeak. The other girl didn't react to it beyond doing as Hermione asked, but she could've sworn she saw Dahlia pulling in her lips to avoid chuckling.

From her back, Hermione moved down to her calf. She knelt to the side, trying to avoid her face getting too close to any of Dahlia's more private areas. Dahlia even extended her leg outward a touch so that Hermione could perform her task as far away as possible.

Then when it came to her hips and pelvis, Dahlia assured the other girl she could handle it herself. Hermione nodded quickly and turned to wash her hands. She practically ran out the door when she was finished, and Dahlia couldn't help but to snicker then. She would've dressed a touch, but many of her wounds were in places that didn't allow it; it would've been more an obstacle than anything else.

Dahlia slipped the clothing on carefully to avoid bumping the delicate wrappings around her wounds. The brassiere she'd been given was tan in color and noticeably small, but the cloth stretched while she strapped it to herself. She could tell that as she began to move it would loosen up. When she unfolded the top she found it to be a cream colored sweater with a sort of braid detail going down either side of the chest, and the bottoms were a deep brown color with a forgiving waist band that tied at the front. They fit tight against her legs, but she was able to tie the front loosely enough that it bothered her very little when she moved.

Once she was dressed, Dahlia ran the dirtied brush she'd used earlier through the water until it ran clear. She would've rather used a new one or cleaned it properly, but she was in no position to be picky. When she was satisfied she pressed it against her used towel to dry before running it again through her calmed locks. She caught a few snags here and there, but she was pleased with the result of her thorough wash.

When she looked in the mirror she wasn't quite as put off by her own appearance. Her darkened right eye was swollen, but not enough to shut entirely. She raised her hand to gently press on the tender skin, feeling where the blood coagulated to cause it to swell. It was more aggravating than it was painful, and if she'd had a knife she would've lightly sliced the skin to relieve some of the pressure. Another blotch of purple sat atop her left cheek, along with a small red line from a cut. Lastly was her bottom lip, swollen and cracked. She ran her tongue across it carefully, catching a taste of rust toward the center. It'd been busted and she couldn't stop herself from pouting and leaning forward to get a better look.

Unsure of what to do with what she used, Dahlia carried all of it with her along with her personal items in her left hand. She held the bundle away from her body, trying to avoid staining the borrowed clothing. It made going back down the stairs difficult as she would've been grasping the hand rail instead, but she tread carefully and took her time. She moved faster than she did earlier, and internally thanked the Potions master for his gifts.

The first person she saw was Ginny, who gave her a forced, closed mouth smile.

"I wasn't sure where to put these." Dahlia said as she gestured with her eyes toward the bundle in her arms.

"There's a washing bin in the kitchen."

Dahlia thanked the girl and moved quickly past her. She located the bin, but instead threw the garments in the trash along with the bandages. What would she do with one set of ruined undergarments?

She returned to the silent living area and took the time to study it; busy and messy as it were. Mismatched colors in all directions, blankets strewn over chairs and pillows piled onto each other in various patterns. There were multiple chairs, small tables, and decorations cramped all into the small space. There were pictures and portraits covering the walls and thick curtains pulled back at the windows. A shelf was pushed against the wall with books piled unevenly and laying in all directions. It was chaos for her. So different was it from her own home. Taking away the obvious difference in size alone it was so... dissheveled. She wanted to organize it all and rearrange to allow more space. It was itching at her.

But instead, she went to the shelf and skimmed over the books until she settled on one she'd never heard of - "The Firespun Chalice" and set to pressing against the cushions of the chairs to find which was the most plush. She needed the cushion for certain, and arranged pillows on the sides and against the back to create comfort.

She read in quiet, slowly adjusting and sinking into the chair until her head fell against the back and she drifted off to a much needed nap.


End file.
